


Face in the Mirror

by ibonekoen



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Gen, RebelCaptain May the Fourth Exchange, undercover mission...or is it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibonekoen/pseuds/ibonekoen
Summary: For the first time, Joreth Sward didn’t recognize the face in the mirror, and it terrified him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohstardustgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstardustgirl/gifts).



> This was written for @ohstardustgirl for the RebelCaptain May Fourth Fic Exchange. The prompt was "dream." I hope this meets your expectations.
> 
> Also, many, many thanks to @tronzler for giving this a beta read for me.

_Come back to me_

Joreth Sward opened his eyes and blinked, disoriented, at the darkened ceiling of his sleep quarters. He could still feel warm breath on his neck, just behind his ear, and hear a woman’s soft, Coruscanti accented voice. He felt that if he looked to his left, he would see her next to him.

The notion was absurd, of course. For one thing, his bed, efficient and utilitarian, barely fit just him comfortably, leaving no room for anyone else. For another, as a single man, he wouldn’t be sharing his bed with anyone at all.

He exhaled through his mouth and turned his head, glancing at the glowing numbers of his chronometer. Thirty minutes remained before his alarm went off — not enough time to make going back to sleep worth it.

Besides, if he got up then, it would mean he could take longer in the shower. Still, he wouldn’t mind a little more shuteye. He enjoyed his employment as assistant to Imperial Admiral Horatio Grendreef, but he did admit — at least to himself — that sometimes, it could be stressful and exhaustive.

He lay in bed, his eyes closed, just lightly dozing, for another five or ten minutes and then groaned. No sense putting it off. He rolled over and shut off the alarm, then tossed the covers back and got out of bed.

“Lights, fifty percent.”

Joreth rubbed his hands over his face as the lights came on overhead at half brightness, and he stumbled into the refresher. Turning on the shower, he shed his sleep clothes and then stepped under the hot water.

Moving to stand under the spray nozzle, he sighed with pleasure. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an actual hot shower. Sonics were efficient and cheaper, but they didn’t have the same feel as a real shower. The water, just short of scalding, felt luxurious on his muscles, and he felt sinful for enjoying the water when others he knew had to make do with sonics.

Wait.

Joreth opened his eyes and frowned as he stepped out of the water stream. That thought made no sense. He’d taken sonic showers in the Academy, of course, but since becoming the Admiral’s assistant, that had become a thing of the past. There’d been no further need to rough it once he’d left the rank of soldier behind. Besides, everyone he knew had access to water showers as well. He didn’t even have a casual acquaintance that didn’t have a shower that used water in their quarters.

Shaking his head, he finished his shower in quiet contemplation of the strange thought. He dried off with a towel and wrapped it around his waist as he contemplated his reflection in the mirror. He patted his cheeks, rubbed his chin and turned his head from side to side. A shadow of stubble had grown in overnight, and he grabbed up his razor and shave cream without a thought.

Facial hair was against Imperial regulations for soldiers, but he was an officer now. The rules were a little more laxed, as long as he remained neat and well groomed. He’d not thought about facial hair before, but staring at his reflection with its smooth, soft skin, he felt a wave of consternation.

Joreth shook the feeling off and dressed in his uniform, making sure his black boots were polished until he could see his reflection. Admiral Grendreef wouldn’t tolerate a single flaw in his attire, no matter how small. He checked all of his buttons and made sure the material of his jacket and pants formed crisp lines, not a single wrinkle.

Satisfied with his appearance, he set his cap on his head and made sure he had his comlink and datapad, and exited his quarters.

He pretended not to hear the woman’s whispers again.

_Come back to me, please._

*~*~*~*~*

Joreth stood at attention beside the admiral’s desk, his back ramrod straight and his datapad tucked into the crook of his arm. He waited for the admiral to finish his call with one of his junior admirals.

Nearing his sixties, the Admiral had been a dashingly handsome man in his younger days. Joreth knew for a fact that he’d been something of a ladykiller and a heartbreaker. He knew this because the admiral liked to brag about it at dinner parties (ones his wife wasn’t in attendance at, of course).

The admiral concluded his holonet call and swiveled his chair toward Joreth. “What’s next on the agenda, my boy?” He tilted his head up to look at Joreth, who thought he caught a mischievous glint in the older man’s green eyes.

His hair had once been rich, thick and luxurious, and as black as the deepest void of space. Even streaked with more silver and white than grey, he managed to look distinguished with the salt and pepper of his full beard.

“Your report on the status of the fleet is due by end of day, and the Moff’s assistant has already called looking for it. Oh, and your wife called to cancel lunch,” Joreth reported. “She’s feeling under the weather. I arranged to have some chicken noodle soup sent to her.”

“Good thinking.” Grendreef nodded. “The report’s nearly finished. I’d like you to read over it and work your usual magic on making it all sound good.”

Joreth nodded. “Of course, Admiral.”

Grendreef gave him a leering grin. “What would I do without you, Joreth? You're my most invaluable officer.”

Joreth’s lips curved into a coy smile. “Let’s hope that you never have to find out, Admiral.” He anticipated the admiral’s laugh and the squeeze of a hand on the swell of his backside, and he was careful not to let his smile slip from his face. A cheek squeeze to start the day was nothing new.

“Why don’t you come back in an hour, hmm?” Grendreef hummed and turned back to his desk. “I should be further along on the report by then.”

“Yes, sir.” Joreth tilted his head downward in a bow and then moved toward the door, holding his datapad to his chest. He could feel the admiral’s eyes following his every move, and for once, he didn’t feel his skin crawl. 

He wondered if the admiral’s wife knew about her husband’s wanderings. The handful of times he’d met her, she'd seemed like a lovely woman, and he prided himself on being a good judge of character. She deserved better than a husband who would chase any biped who seemed interested.

Well. As long as they appeared humanoid. Anything less would bring scandal and shame. Force forbid an Imperial should enjoy a little tentacle action now and again. The admiral probably didn't even know the meaning of erogenous zones.

Joreth sighed and made his way out of the main part of the admiral's offices. His desk sat at an angle in a corner, positioned to face the door so he could greet whomever might be wishing to see the admiral. He’d worked in more cramped spaces, so he was grateful the admiral was high enough along the chain of command to afford a spacious office.

An hour would give him enough time to run some errands. Starting with the market seemed the best option. It was his least favorite errand, even though he enjoyed being able to prepare food himself. His coworkers thought him strange for the practice — he made enough credits as the admiral’s personal assistant to eat at any of the nicest restaurants Coruscant offered — but there was something comforting about preparing food for himself. He could remember sitting on the kitchen counter as a small boy, watching his mother making chilaquiles.

His feet had carried him to the turbolift without him realizing it, and he frowned, wondering where the memory of his mother had come from. He had no memories of his mother; she'd died shortly after he was born.

Shaking off the disconcerting feeling, he hurried out of the turbolift and headed to the market.

As he stood beside his favorite produce stand, inspecting the selection of ripened fruits, he became aware of the feeling of eyes watching him. Remaining calm, he kept his back to the thoroughfare between the rows of stalls. He finished up his purchases and moved on to the next stall; the hairs on the back of his neck raised. Someone was watching him, he felt sure of it.

He stopped at another stall and cast a surreptitious glance back in the direction he'd come. He couldn’t see anyone out of the ordinary but that didn’t mean he wasn’t being tailed. Whoever it was clearly knew how to blend in and not draw attention to themselves.

Joreth frowned as he stepped away from the stall and resumed walking the market path. Maybe he'd imagined that he was being watched. Maybe he’d been watching too many holodramas and mysteries. He’d considered the intelligence track at the Academy but he’d gotten such poor marks in his first few courses that it had been suggested he’d be suited toward something else.

Yes, that had to be the answer. He’d let his imagination get carried away. Of course someone might stare; he’d come to the market in full uniform. He didn’t have his standard issue weapon at his side, but he thought he looked imposing.

He relaxed as he continued with his shopping. His hour of freedom was nearly up; the admiral would be wanting him to look over his report and who knew what else since his wife had taken ill.

Turning from the spice vendor, he began the trek out of the market. He’d have just enough time to drop his purchases off at his quarters before—

Someone slammed hard into his arm, and he scowled as his cloth sacks were jostled. A few fruits spilled out the top and rolled away, and he opened his mouth to snap at the offender.

His eyes widened.

She gave him a sheepish smile, and though her hair was covered by a headscarf, he knew it was brown. Not a mousy, ugly brown either, but deep and warm, like cinnamon bark. “My apologies. I’m so clumsy sometimes.” She stooped down to pick up the fallen fruit.

Joreth’s lips parted on an exclamation but his breath stuttered in his chest. Her voice — he knew that voice. He’d heard it in his sleep. “You—”

He’d waited too long. She’d deposited his fruit back into his sack and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him to call out “Wait! Miss—”

He tried to push his way through the throngs of people, chasing the green headscarf, but he lost sight of her too quickly. Even standing tall over the crowd didn’t help (probably because he really wasn’t all that tall, but he liked to think his boots gave him a few precious inches.). He came to a halt, heaving a frustrated sigh.

She was gone. He didn’t have time to scour the market. He needed to get back to the admiral’s office. Still, he puzzled over her voice and why it had seemed so familiar. He didn’t recognize her face, and he considered himself to be excellent at remembering faces and names.

He shook his head. There would be time for puzzling later. He had work to do.

*~*~*~*~* 

Nola Jaxx made herself at home wherever she went, and Joreth’s office space was no different. Though only twenty standard years of age, she’d already made herself an invaluable member of Admiral Grendreef’s staff. If Joreth was Grendreef’s right hand, then Nola was his.

She perched on the corner of his desk, her full red lips curved into a flirtatious smirk, her blond hair drawn back and fashioned into a bun. That particular hairstyle would look severe and cold on anyone else, but Nola seemed to pull it off well. Maybe it was the warmth in her blue eyes.

“Joreth, why don’t you come by my place tonight?” She crossed one leg over the other, and her pencil skirt fell back just a little to show more of her thigh.

Joreth’s eyes drifted down to her exposed skin and then cut back to his datapad. He cleared his throat. “I might be working late, Nola. Maybe another time?”

“Are you sure?” She scooted a little closer and reached out to brush her fingers against his jacket collar. 

He couldn’t explain the unease he felt at her touch. They’d flirted countless times before, and he’d never felt queasiness in his stomach.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He managed a weak smile. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

She gave him a rueful smile and stood up, leaning over him to brush her lips against his cheek. “Keep fighting,” she whispered. “We’re gonna get you out.”

Joreth blinked, giving her a strange look, but before he could ask what she meant, she’d slipped out of the office. The door closed behind her, leaving him with his bewilderment.

*~*~*~*~*

Joreth made his way through the Imperial Palace, trying to ignore the growing ball of dread in his stomach. The Palace wasn’t a place that he liked to go often, but once in a while, he needed to carry sensitive information directly to one of the Emperor’s aides.

He’d never met the Emperor himself, and truth be told, he never wanted to, if he could help it. Oh, many Imperials might consider it a great privilege, but the Emperor frightened Joreth.

He stood in a hallway outside the private office of Agent Sebastian Lonarcch, awaiting an audience with the older man. He’d only met Lonarcch in an official business capacity but the man gave him hives nonetheless.

It wouldn’t do for an Imperial administrative assistant to pace or show any outwardly signs of discomfort, but Joreth couldn’t fight the urge to fidget. Thankfully, the hallway had remained deserted since he’d first arrived and knocked on the door to announce himself. He allowed himself a restless roll of his shoulders, and when that didn’t soothe him, he started to pace. Just a couple of steps to the left, and then a couple of steps back to where he’d started.

This continued, Joreth adding a few steps here and there until he paced nearly the full length of the hall.

On one pass back toward the office door, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a large mirror. From the corner of his eye, he only saw enough to catch his attention and alert him to something wrong, but when he turned to face his reflection head-on, he gasped.

He saw a man who might’ve resembled him, except he had several days’ growth of stubble. His skin appeared blanched and gaunt, and sweat clung to him.

Even his clothes were different in the mirror. Instead of a crisp grey Imperial uniform jacket, he wore a khaki-colored shirt that had been soaked through with sweat and had seen better days. He thought the shirt might have once been white, and the front flap hung limply down on his chest.

For the first time, Joreth Sward didn’t recognize the face in the mirror, and it terrified him.

*~*~*~*~*

Three days passed without much incident. Joreth didn’t hear any phantom voices or encounter any vaguely familiar women.

In hindsight, he should’ve known better than to relax his guard.

“It’s been thirty-six hours and he still hasn’t woken up!”

Joreth halted midstep toward his kitchenette and frowned. He recognized that voice, even with the barely concealed note of distress.

His phantom, the brunette.

Part of him wanted to bolt back to his sleep quarters and grab the blaster he kept fully charged in his bedside bureau. Another part of him wanted to know how the kriff she’d gotten into his quarters without him noticing. Yet another part wanted to know who she was talking to and what did she mean he hadn’t woken up? He was awake and had been for hours.

That she was speaking about him, he had no doubt. Of course, if someone were to ask him _why_ he had no doubt, he wouldn’t be able to give them a definitive reason. He couldn’t very well say it was a _feeling_ , after all.

He crept closer to the small dining area, trying to conceal himself in the shadows. He couldn’t be certain how he knew she wasn’t alone — for all he knew, she could easily be speaking into a comlink or even the empty room.

Gut instinct, he thought, trying not to examine said instinct or its possible origin too closely. Gut instinct told him she wasn't alone.

Yet he still felt shock jolt through him as a male voice answered her. “I know, and we’re running out of time.” The man — annoyingly familiar, although Joreth was certain he’d remember hearing such a distinctive accent before — sounded so grave and forlorn that Joreth almost reassured them that he _was_ awake, thanks for the concern.

“There has to be something we can do!”

Joreth’s forehead creased with concern as he stepped into the dining area only to find it empty. But that was impossible. He knew he’d heard voices.

“Calm down, Jyn,” another woman said soothingly, and Joreth gasped. He knew that voice.

Leia Organa, the young Senator from Alderaan and a suspected member of the Rebel Alliance.

Joreth frowned deeply as he wondered why he could hear a _Senator_ , let alone a Rebellion sympathizer, in his quarters. He began feeling around the room, touching objects, confirming that he was, in fact, alone in the room.

“Calm down? Seriously?” The brunette — Jyn — scoffed. “Cassian’s _dying_ , Leia, and all we can seem to do is stand around and argue about what to do!”

“We're trying to find an antidote.” The man from before sounded strained. “I’m a pilot, not a doctor. I'm in over my head.”

“You.” Joreth had no idea who Jyn was addressing now, and he felt a growing sense of fear. How was he hearing these voices? Where were the people? Why couldn’t he see them? And who the kriff was Cassian anyway and why was he dying? “You're a Jedi. Can’t you heal him?”

Again, Joreth felt a jolt of shock. A Jedi? On Coruscant? Impossible. The Jedi had been eradicated nearly two decades ago during the Clone Wars. Joreth had been a small boy when it happened, but even he remembered the adults in his life talking about that.

“Hey, say that a little bit louder,” snapped a rougher but still feminine voice that he recognized as well — Nola Jaxx. No. It couldn’t be her. He would know if she was a Rebel sympathizer or a Jedi. She was loyal to the Imperials just like him. “I don't think they heard you over in the next system.”

That was definitely Nola’s voice but he couldn’t see her. He almost called out to her, but he couldn’t get his voice to work.

Trembling with shock and just a twinge of fear, Joreth stumbled back, seeking refuge in his sleep quarters and locking the door. He clearly needed to get himself to the nearest medcenter. He had no rational explanation for the hallucinations he’d experienced other than he’d obviously lost his mind. Being stressed and overworked could lead to a breakdown. He’d heard rumors of the same thing happening to Admiral Grendreef’s previous assistant.

Maybe he just needed a good night's rest. Yes, that would be good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does everyone keep telling Joreth to wake up? _He is awake, dammit_!

A good night’s rest eluded Joreth. He woke up the next morning feeling more tired than when he'd gone to sleep.

“Are you feeling alright, Joreth?” Grendreef asked, his tone laced with concern.

Joreth mustered up a smile. “Yes, sir, I’m fine. I just had a rough night. Nothing to trouble yourself over, sir.”

Grendreef harrumphed. “You work too hard and too much, Joreth. You need a vacation.”

Joreth laughed lightly. He didn't want to point out that he only worked so hard because he did practically everything for the Admiral. “Sir, if I took a vacation, who would look after you?”

“No, Joreth, I insist. You're the best assistant I’ve had, and I'll not lose you to stress or being overworked.” Grendreef smiled. “Now, where would you like to go? My treat.”

Joreth worked his mouth open and closed several times. “Admiral, I couldn't possibly ask you to—”

“Nonsense!” Grendreef waved his hand dismissively. “You’re not asking. I offered.”

What’s the catch, Joreth almost asked, but he tried to swallow down the bitterness of suspicion. “I’ve never really been on vacation,” he said cautiously. “I wouldn’t know where to go.”

Grendreef hummed and stroked his beard. Then he slowly smiled. “Leave it to me. I know just where to send you. I'll even send along company.”

*~*~*~*~*

Company turned out to be Nola Jaxx, and her mouth downturned into a bewildered frown as she met Joreth at the admiral's private landing pad.

“What’s going on, Joreth? This wasn’t part of the original mission.”

Joreth shot her a perplexed look. “Original mission? What are you talking about?” He frowned and shook his head. “Admiral Grendreef has decided I work too hard and need a vacation.”

He didn’t wait for Nola; he shifted his duffle bag strap on his shoulder and headed onto the small transport ship that would take them to the mysterious destination Grendreef had chosen. Stowing his bag in one of the smaller berths, he made his way to one of the passenger seats in the main passenger area and secured his crash webbing.

“Where are we going?” Nola asked as she dropped down in the seat beside him.

Joreth shrugged. “I’ve never really been on vacation, so Grendreef said he’d handle all the details.” He glanced at her to see her frowning deeply, and he gave her a puzzled look. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t feel strange? Like something’s out of place?”

Joreth mulled over her statement as he glanced around the ship. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. They were in a cargo hold of a standard Imperial shuttle, and there was the ladder leading up to the cockpit. He knew that if he climbed the ladder, he’d see the cockpit and the pilot getting ready for takeoff.

He couldn’t hear them but he knew others huddled in the back of the hold. The air hung thick with tension, and the men murmured among themselves. No one had said it aloud, but everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing — the mission was a one-way ticket.

Joreth blinked and raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the center. “What—”

A hand touched his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to see Nola giving him a sympathetic look. He stumbled back, bumping up against the wall of the hold.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her blue eyes seeming to bore into him. “This is your fever dream. Where are we going?”

“Fever dream? What are you—” He frowned and scaled the ladder into the cockpit. An unfamiliar man sat in the pilot’s seat, and a KX-series security droid sat beside him.

“Kaytoo?” Joreth murmured, and for a moment, everything seemed to reel around him. He reached out, bracing his hand against the wall, as he waited for his equilibrium to settle. Through the transparisteel of the viewport, he could see the deep blue surface of the planet below.

He didn’t even question how they’d arrived so fast, but he felt a shudder go through him.

“Scarif.”

Nola’s hand found its way to his shoulder, and she squeezed gently. “You might want to wake up now,” she whispered in his ear.

He turned his head, frowning at her. “I  _ am  _ awake,” he insisted, and then his heart leaped into his mouth. He stared at the brunette leaning intently over the pilot’s shoulder, her hand braced on the back of his seat. Joreth felt his mouth go dry and his stomach flip-flopped.

Jyn.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the world tilted sideways on its axis, and a moment later, everything went black.

*~*~*~*~*

Joreth groaned, feeling grit beneath his eyelids and struggling to open his eyes. His mouth tasted like something had crawled into it while he was sleeping and died, and he gagged.

“Holy kriff, he’s awake!”

“Hey, give him some space to breathe, okay?”

“Nola,” Joreth croaked, giving up on getting his eyes to open. Something wet touched his lips, and he nearly cried as cool water trickled into his mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay. Drink it slowly,” said a soft, tender voice that wasn’t Nola but he recognized it anyway. He couldn’t grasp the name, but he knew it was his brunette.

He tried to speak, to ask her name, to ask where she’d been and where they were and what the kriff was going on, but his strength gave out. He slipped back into the darkness.

*~*~*~*~*

“Your name isn’t Joreth Sward, you know.”

Joreth frowned as he inclined his head, the sharp click of his bootheels coming to a halt as he stopped in the middle of the corridor. “What?”

Nola lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “You heard me.”

He stared at her for another moment and then shook his head and resumed walking, although his steps were a little more stiff-legged. “Have you taken leave of your senses, Nola?”

“She’s waiting for you. We all are. You just need to wake up. We’re trying to get back to base quick as we can.”

Joreth’s back stiffened. “You’re talking nonsense. I have work to do.”

He started to continue forward, but Nola grabbed his arm, and for a minute, she looked older, her hair hung loose and falling to her shoulders, and she had a more serious expression on her face. Even her clothes had changed from the regulation Imperial uniform to brown leather trousers and a green shirt layered under a black leather jacket.

“I’m serious, Cassian,” she said, a grave tone in her voice. “I’m losing my grip on contacting you. You’re fading from the Force, and I can’t—” Her voice caught in her throat, and she squeezed his arm. “ _ We _ can’t lose you, dammit.”

Shaken and confused, he jerked his arm from her grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed. “Now leave me alone.  _ I have work to do _ .”

He stalked down the corridor, leaving her frowning after him.

*~*~*~*~*

Joreth kept mulling over Nola’s words to him. A fever dream. What did that even mean? He felt perfectly fine. He even went to the medcenter for a checkup and everything came back perfectly normal.

At least, he assumed it did. He honestly didn’t recall seeing the test results. But he knew he was in good health. He’d never felt better, actually. A brief respite from Coruscant and his daily duties had done him good. He’d returned from his vacation feeling refreshed and reinvigorated.

The strange remark Nola had made remained with him too, nagging at him, eating away at him. Fading from the Force, she’d said. She’d never given any previous indication of being Force sensitive, and he almost wished she hadn’t now.

His stomach soured when he thought about turning her in, even though he knew that was what any loyal Imperial would do. Yet she’d been his friend for longer than he could remember. He couldn’t just tattle on her. It would lead to her imprisonment — or worse, her death. He didn’t think he could handle that on his conscience.

He pushed the gruesome thought away and focused on his datapad. He had reports to read and emails to answer, and oh, an invitation to a fancy ball popped up in his inbox.

The Admiral loved an excuse to get dressed up in his uniform and show off all of his medals. He might even bring his wife along for the occasion. He did love showing her off, especially when she was decked out in all the jewels he’d bought her.

He might skip the whole affair. He wasn’t feeling so well. In fact, there was a terrible taste in his mouth that no amount of rinsing with mouthwash could help. He tugged at his uniform collar. Yes, maybe he’d just beg out of the event and go home to rest.

*~*~*~*~*

He could not beg out of the event. Admiral Grendreef insisted that he attend; the admiral might need him to provide the name of someone important that the admiral couldn’t remember on his own. Before the night was over, he’d probably end up consoling the admiral’s wife as her husband was nowhere to be found.

So he dressed in his best uniform and combed his hair until it shone, slicking it back. He arrived at the ballroom a few minutes late and did his best to blend in with the crowd. Grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, he sought out a dark, quiet corner.

He caught sight of her standing near the balcony doors, and he drew in a sharp intake of air.

Jyn.

He gulped down his champagne and set aside the glass, hurrying over to her.

“You,” he hissed, stricken by the face of the woman who had been haunting him. “What are you doing here? What do you want?” His voice sounded harsh to his ears, thick with the offworld accent he tried so hard to suppress on a daily basis.

The petite brunette lifted her head, jutted her chin out, and her blue eyes burned with passion and defiance. “I'm reminding you that rebellions are built on hope.”

Something in his chest clenched at the hope he saw shining in her eyes. The words should've chafed but instead, they felt like old friends embracing his heart.

Still, he looked around to make sure no one heard her, and he hissed again, his words registering at a slightly higher pitch. “You’re a rebel? You shouldn’t be here!” He grabbed hold of her shoulder.

She yanked back out of his grip and snapped vehemently “Neither should you!”

His heart pounding against his ribcage, he shot another quick glance around the room and then nudged her out onto the balcony. He pulled the doors closed behind him and then began searching every inch of the space.

She seemed to catch onto what he was doing after a minute and joined his search before shaking her head. “It’s clean. No bugs.”

No listening devices of any kind, and Joreth wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. He straightened back. “Nola—”  He squeezed his eyes shut as his world spun, and he fervently wished he hadn’t drunk that champagne.

“Forget about her right now.” Jyn’s hand rested on his shoulder, a solid grip that anchored him. “I’m more concerned about you.”

Joreth kept his eyes closed as something cool touched his cheek, and he instinctively leaned into it. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he murmured.

“You’re sick, and you need to wake up,” she said softly. “Just open your eyes for me, darling.”

Feeling a cough coming on, he raised his hand to cover his mouth, and he felt flecks of wetness against his palm. When he drew his hand back, he opened his eyes and was startled to see blood. “Jyn.” He felt his knees wobble and then give way, and he felt himself drop.

Jyn caught him and eased him to the ground, and she brushed his bangs off of his forehead. “Just relax. I’m here with you.”

He shuddered, and his entire body felt chilled, but he knew sweat had beaded on his forehead too. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so ill. His body ached, and he just wanted to sleep.

“No, no, you can’t sleep. You’ve been sleeping too much.”

He felt a sharp slap to his cheek, and he blinked his eyes, drawing in a gasp. “Jyn,” he croaked, wanting to ask her what the kriff, but he coughed hard enough that his chest and ribs ached.

“I told you not to touch alien flowers,” she muttered. “Did you listen? Kriff, Cassian.”

He sucked in a breath, staring up at her.

He remembered.


End file.
